


The Call on Darkness

by hightechzombie



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: I guess???, M/M, good doctor come to visit the vampire hunter, is this hurt/comfort?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hightechzombie/pseuds/hightechzombie
Summary: McCullum is sick and bed-bound on Christmas Eve. A certain someone comes by to visit the patient...
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

The wood inside the oven had burned down and the cold began seeping in through the drafty windows. McCullum shifted under the sheets, but did not stand up. With the fever, the thought of leaving the warm bed and being forced to pile up wood for a proper fire was thoroughly unpleasant. Deep down, McCullum nursed the hope that Mary owould come up to check on her tenant and add more to the fire. 

But McCullum hadn’t heard her humming in a while. The old woman must have fallen asleep in her chair while stitching. That meant McCullum was the one awake in the whole building.

The neighbors were gone to the church, attending the Christmas sermon. His comrades were holding festivities of their own - with more alcohol, but no less ceremony or prayers. McCullum wished he were there. It was the first Christmas in seventeen years that he was spending on his own.

Granted, there was no one to blame but him. He sent out Jack and Tommy to have some fun. Listening to him coughing his guts out was hardly the best way to spend Christmas.

There was laughter and the sound of conversation down in the street from passersbies on their way home. McCullum closed his eyes, tired and angry at himself. Sickness made him pathetic. Made him think he was lonely. 

The candle had burned up to the middle. McCullum lowered an arm to search for the book which he dropped on the floor and failed to find. It wasn’t a good one. If it was some entertaining trash, he might have read more. If it was practical, he might have persevered for longer. But as it stood, it was the type of reading you only did when you were chained to your bed. Even then - not for long. 

McCullum sighed and returned his arm to under the blanket. Damn, it was cold. Maybe he should call out to Mary and ask her to stoke the fire? Just as McCullum was gathering air to shout, someone decisively knocked on the door.

Perking up, McCullum heard the shifting of the wood boards as Mary stood up and opened the door. Quiet conversation ensued, the contents of which McCullum didn’t catch. Did Jack or Tom return? Maybe they brought something for him. Most food lost its taste since he got sick, but McCullum still wouldn’t say no to a warm greasy turkey leg. 

The stairs creaked as people climbed them. McCullum heard Mary say in her creaky voice: “He’s doing bad, doctor, no good at all. Coughing so hard it makes the roof shake!”

“Is that so?” said a man, polite and amused.

The door opened. It was the goddamn blood drinker, accompanied by Mary. McCullum rose up and broke out in uncontrollable coughing. 

“You were not exaggerating,” said the leech to Mary, bowing to her with a hat in hand. “Don’t fret, it’s nothing medicine can’t cure.”

“Get… him,” choked out McCullum through the coughing, “out of the house!”

Mary shook her grey head with consternation.

“Stubborn oaf! The good doctor is going to give a look for free and you complain?”

“Yes, I certainly fucking do,” wanted to say McCullum, but didn’t manage to get the words out, coughing his lungs out. . 

“That will be enough,” said Reid to Mary. “I will take care of him. You may return to the sitting room, if you like.”

The was a force of suggestion behind the words that was unique to leeches. A small delirious smile appeared on Mary’s wrinkled face as she left the room. 

Reid and McCullum were alone.

“What do you want?” said McCullum hoarsely, once the coughing fit had subsided. . 

“To do my doctor’s duty, of course,” said Reid lightly. 

“Horseshit.”

“Is that so? Then I have surely come here to suck you dry and hang your corpse from the window as Christmas decoration,” said Reid with his back turned to McCullum. The leech was stoking the fire and adding logs to the oven.

The pistol was on the desk, mere three steps away. It was loaded with silver. But McCullum didn’t trust himself to grasp it quickly in his current state. It took a lot to kill a vampire even when you were in top shape.

And McCullum remembered how devilishly hard it was to vanquish this particular leech in the years before. 

Satisfied with the fire in the oven, Reid turned to McCullum and opened the doctor’s bag. He took out the metal listening things - steto something - and placed it on McCullum’s chest, ignoring his patient’s attempts to fend him off. 

“Clogged lungs,” drew Reid the verdict. “For how long have you been sick?”

“Ever since I fucked your mother.”

The slap was lightning fast and enough to stun him for a moment. When the pain subsided and his sight cleared, McCullum saw that Reid was still here, measuring medicine. It seems like that piece of vulgarity didn’t manage to chase him off. 

“Why won’t you just leave?” said McCullum. 

“Your cough can be heard even from Pembroke Hospital. Couldn’t let you disturb my patients..”

“Very funny,” said McCullum.

Reid shrugged. 

“If you don’t like my jokes, you won’t like the medicine either.”

Indeed, McCullum tried to evade the spoonful of medicine. Reid has to hold him still by force and then to shove the spoon into his mouth. It tasted - as expected - utterly disgusting. 

“If you spit it out, I am going to use hypnosis for you to drink it anyway,” warned Reid.

With a hateful gaze, McCullum swallowed the tincture. 

“Take one spoonful of this medicine twice a day, in the morning and evening. Drink plenty of liquids - and by that I mean water and tea. Alcohol is banned.”

“What are you, my mother?” spit out McCullum.

“Worse,” said Reid, leaning in sinisterly. “I’m your doctor.”

McCullum had to laugh at that. As always, the laugh turned into a cough which took a long time to quiet down.

Reid didn’t say a word, nor try to coddle him. Just patiently waited for the cough to subside, sitting next to him.

“What are you doing here on Christmas Eve?” eventually asked McCullum.

“Tried listening to the mass and almost set myself on fire. Decided it’s safer out here.”

McCullum said nothing. Christmas as a vampire must be a shitty affair. No festive turkeys for you and if you were a fucking obstinate leech like Reid, you didn’t even have the opportunity to grab a human to suck on. 

“How can you stand being yourself,” asked McCullum, “and not drowning yourself in the Thames?”

“Practice,” said Reid and turned away to fetch something from his doctor’s bag. “Practice and a lot of distractions. Speaking of which...”

Reid raised a bottle of whiskey and then with a grave expression poured it into McCullum’s empty mug. 

“Am not I forbidden to drink alcohol?” said McCullum, accepting the cup.

“Just a few sips won’t harm. As long as a doctor is present.”

“I’ll drink to that,” smirked McCullum.

They toasted each other, McCullum with the enamel cup and Reid with his whiskey bottle. The liquid burned McCullum throat and left a smoky aftertaste. A good one. Likely wasted on Reid, who had toasted out of sheer politeness. 

“Do vampires even get drunk?” asked McCullum. 

“Through regular means, no. Even irregular means pose a challenge,” answered Reid. “Even if you inject alcohol directly into the blood, it will be broken down as quickly as any other poison would. Thus…”

Reid stopped when he heard McCullum laughing at him. 

“Seems like that my answers greatly entertain you,” said Reid.

“When is your next lecture, professor?” mocked McCullum, breathless from laughter.

“Depends on when I get to meet a student that doesn’t run away from me,” said Reid.

“Invite the Priwen guard next time. They always enjoy learning something new about leeches.”

“I’m afraid they will turn to practical experiments, while I prefer sticking to theory.” 

“True!” barked McCullum and laughed again.

That’s how the evening went: The topics turned from comical to morbid and back again. McCullum shared news of the Priwen hunts and discussed the skal population. He was cautious not to divulge vital information, but Reid tended to be well-informed of what McCullum told him anyway. 

Reid brought up some hospital gossip and shared the stories of his patients. He looked like a father, regaling someone with the tales of his children’s shenanigans. His stories were censored too, in order to protect the anonymity of his patients, but that was to be expected.

At some point the two of them turned to discussing history. Both were well-informed on the regular as well as occult events that took place in London and ended up arguing themselves hoarse about whose version of events was the correct one. 

While McCullum explained why Greenwich theory about 1863 was horseshit, Reid suddenly turned his head, perking up. Then he stood up, holding his coat that seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

“It seems like I will have to cut my appointment short,” said Reid.

McCullum first stared, but soon he understood.

“Jack and Tommy are back.”

“They are about to let themselves in,” said Reid, packing his doctor’s bag and throwing a last checking glance over the room. “Don’t forget: a spoonful of medicine twice a day. Stay in bed, drink tea.”

“Yessir,” said McCullum sarcastically. 

Reid threw a final log into the oven, nodded in departure and opened the window.

“It’s fucking cold,” hissed McCullum.

“Apologies,” said Reid without a hint of apology in his voice.

Then he leapt out. The windows banged against the frame and opened again.

When Tommy and Jack entered, smelling like candle wax, whiskey and greasy turkey, McCullum told them: 

“Close the windows properly. The bloody doctor forgot to do that before he left.”

Tommy and Jack looked at him stupefied. It almost made McCullum laugh. 


	2. Chapter 2

The cough went away in a week. But even if it hadn’t, McCullum wouldn’t have worried about his health much. Likely, a certain leech would then have come knocking, cloak in hand and in sheep’s clothing

“Can’t read the pulse of dames properly,” would the leech say, “with your cough in my ears. Did you drink the medicine? Don’t be a fool. Let me hear your chest. By the way, remember Veronica the nurse? You won’t believe what she did to make her beloved propose to her. There is an antiquarian…”

And Reid would have go on and on like that, except he never came in first place. McCullum had recovered, after all. They had no reason to meet - a doctor and a healthy man. 

They might have had a reason to meet as a vampire and a vampire hunter… but they both didn’t let it come to that.

The next time they saw each other was almost a year later. 

It was fall. McCullum was killing leeches...

***

A shotgun would have come in handy right now, but reloading a shotgun took several seconds - seconds, that McCullum did not have. Instead he swung his sword upwards, hoping to hit the heart. The skal yelped as a red gash appeared in its chest - enough for it to shrink away, but not enough to fall dead. Meanwhile, a second skal jumped from the right. McCullum dodged and kicked it away for a moment’s respite.

“Where’s Rick?” shouted McCullum. 

“Dunno!” answered Jack, struggling with his own pair of admirers. 

“Fucking hell,” growled McCullum. A flamethrower would have come in real handy right now… but they had really not expected to be jumped in the fucking Southwart district. It’d been quiet lately, that’s why they decided that there was no harm in splitting for a few minutes. Rick needed to get his smokes and he got really cranky without them. 

And here they were, Rick and his smokes nowhere in sight. Jack and McCullum ended up back to back, while the skals were circling me. 

“Cover me,” said Jack, reloading his pistols. 

“Sure,” said McCullum and used his sword to create a flurry of silver. The skals tried and failed to catch him unaware. Jack fired at them, hitting one dead-center. Another tasted some silver and dropped to the ground. 

Three left. Easy. 

Then, Jack screamed out as something black wrapped around him. A skal had jumped at them from above. McCullum swung at it, but the cut was shallow, as he feared to hurt Jack in the scuffle. Both of them were in a close embrace, one trying to feast and the other trying not to be eaten alive. 

All the while, the three skals decided to join the fun. McCullum struggled to keep them at bay. Even worse, he saw more glistening eyes coming up from the dark. How many more were there?!

Attention split between Jack and the attackers, McCullum failed to react quickly enough as a skal sunk his teeth in his shoulder. It was the last thing the fucking thing ever did in its miserable life, as McCullum decapitated it with a furious swing.

But its death was of small relief. Two more skals jumped at him and McCullum stumbled over Jack trying to evade them. Dread filled him up as everything went wrong in the split of a second.

But instead of punishing pain and sharp teeth, McCullum felt only the impact of hitting the ground. A shadow coalesced and threw back the skals. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, the darkness more deep than at midnight. The shadow turned to Jack and ripped away skal with a flick of the wrist, flinging the creature against the wall.

In the next moment, the shadows fell from the figure. McCullum recognized the well-dressed vampire with blood-shot eyes. It was Reed. 

Jack looked around in disorientation and his eyes eventually focused on the newcomer. He raised his pistol at Reed’s back, who turned to fight the other skals. Before thinking, McCullum kicked Jack to throw off his aim. 

The shot went wide, missing Reed. He did not turn around. Meanwhile, Jack looked in confusion somewhere between McCullum and his own pistol. Jack’s head was bleeding all over. He looked dazed and in a bad state. 

“Give me that pistol,” said McCullum and wrangled it from his hand. Jack tried to resist, but his grip was weak and his jacket was soaked in blood. 

Ignoring the scuffle behind him, Reed fought back the skals. His style was vicious. With bare hands, he ripped up skals that were unwise enough to get close. Those that tried to sink their fangs in him, he evaded by turning into shadowy mist. And those that tried to flee, were chased down by a bullet. McCullum aided Reed, using Jack’s pistol and picked off skals from the backline.

Soon, it was over. Somewhen during the battle, Jack had fallen unconscious, his limp body lying next to McCullum. Sitting down on the hunches and fumbling with the collar, McCullum noted with relief that his pulse was still there. 

But weak. It was very weak. 

Reed had come over as well, decidedly pushed McCullum away. After giving the body a short glance, Reed pressed a handkerchief against the stomach and lifted Jack from the ground.

“Hey…” protested McCullum. 

Ignoring that, Reed began quickly walking away und only curtly commanding:

“Follow me.”

There was nothing for McCullum to do but obey. 

With a fast pace, they soon reached a building, whose front door was nailed shut. Without looking around, Reed jumped to the balcony as casually as you would step over a manhole. Then he looked down at McCullum. 

“There is a window behind the corner. Break it and go upstairs.”

“Fucking,” began McCullum and only managed to finish when Reed was gone, “hell.”

The building looked even worse from the inside than from the outside. It smelled like mold. McCullum shook off the shards of glass from the jacket and walked up the creaky stairs. His shoulder was aching, clearly not appreciating having to perform acrobatics so soon after injury.

On the second floor, McCullum saw light seep from under the door. He entered the room to witness a surgery in progress.

Reed’s hands were covered in blood. His movements were certain, economical. You could see his experience from the way he moved, thoughtless as a machine.

But this was if you only looked at his hands. If you looked at his face, you saw blood-shot eyes and a mouth twisted in a snarl. His fangs were inhumanly long and sharp. You couldn’t tell if it was fury or agony that distorted his features. 

Trying to be as quiet as possible, McCullum reloaded his pistol. 

“No need,” commented Reed, his voice raspy and out of breath. 

“Just in case some skals followed us,” lied McCullum and strolled over. “How is he?”

“He’ll live. Monitoring. Transport once he’s stable.”

It seems it was all that Reed could muster at the moment, clenching his teeth together. McCullum just watched the doctor finish the stitches. Despite the good doctor’s ability to form a sentence, McCullum’s hand did not stray from the pistol.

A few minutes minutes later, Reed looked up.

“Alcohol. Transparent bottle.”

McCullum grabbed the bottle and lifted it towards Reed.

“Soak a rug in it. Clean up his upper body. Disinfect,” instructed Reed curtly, standing up with bloodied hands. “I’ll wash up.” 

“Yes, doctor,” said McCullum only with a tiny bit of sarcasm. This was not his first time playing nurse, but first time with a leech doc in charge. 

Jack looked pale, but his breathing was even. McCullum noted an injection in the left arm. Morphine? Likely Reed didn’t want the patient to try to murder him mid-surgery.

The armor had protected Jack’s body the best it could, but it was not enough. The stitches were neat, but it made the injuries look only graver. A criss-cross of red lines was covering the entire chest. 

“It’ll be fine,” said McCullum to himself. “You’ll get out of here.”

Get out here. Reed probably knew what he was doing. But even so, McCullum was dying to get out. Jack should get a different doc, one that wouldn’t salivate at his sight, and rest in safety among his brothers. 

Reed returned with clean hands and a somber expression. His eyes were again blue and his fangs had retracted, but not quite enough for him to pass as human. Not acknowledging McCullum, Reed checked Jack’s left and his right pupil. Seemingly satisfied, he began to carefully feel up the back of Jack’s head.

“What’s that for?” asked McCullum.

“Checking for head trauma. I worry he might have a concussion. The blood loss shouldn’t have knocked him out as quickly as it did.”

McCullum said nothing. 

“Hm. I feel a bump, but no blood. That’s good. Still, I would keep a close eye on him in the coming days.”

“Sure,” said McCullum. 

“Now we need to bandage him. Could you hold him up?”

McCullum obliged, lifting Jack by the shoulders while Reed wrapped bandages around the torso. Just as before, his movements were steady and economical. He and his Priwen brothers usually avoided the hospitals and the questions that came with them. There were some decent field docs among his comrades, but you had to admit: there was something special about witnessing a proper professional at work. The bandages lay close against the chest and it didn’t look like it would fall apart even in a fight. 

“Lay him down. I’ll go find a blanket.” Reed looked around at the half-rotten furniture and added under his breath, “Preferably, one without mold…”

Jack looked better once his chest was neatly bandaged. There was a little blood showing, but it only gave him a noble look. Well, the boy would finally get a good story to tell and battle scars to show it. 

McCullum took off his own coat, wincing at the ache in the shoulder, and covered Jack with it. It would keep him a bit warmer. As for Jack’s jacket, it was lying on the floor, soaked in blood and looking as if it had gone through a shredder.

“I found no blankets, but a single pillow,” announced Reed, coming up silently from behind. “His head might use softer rest than a wooden table, at the very least.” 

“Wonderful,” said McCullum, suppressing his startlement. 

Watching as Reed carefully placed a pillow under his patient’s head, McCullum spoke up:

“Speaking of which… it’s a cozy home you got there, but I think it’s time for us to be heading home…”

“Sure,” agreed easily Reed. “But let me first look at your wound.”

McCullum bristled. 

“Look, not that I’m not grateful for the help back there…” said McCullum. “But I’m not exactly a fan of leeches. The boys back at headquarters are just as capable…”

“I’m well aware of the average ability of university dropouts and field medics,” cut off Reed, “as I am aware of your order’s opinion on vampires. But you are not carrying this boy out in your current state and I am certainly not letting you leave without receiving medical care.”

Taking a deep breath, McCullum reminded himself that violence was not an option and crassness would get him nowhere. He didn’t remember when he had stood up in agitation. 

“You’re keeping us locked in?” said McCullum. “You truly dare?”

The word “leech” was omitted from that sentence, but Reed had felt nonetheless. His posture changed, his smile grew sardonic. 

“The way I see it - as a leech and professional doctor,” said Reed, carefully shaking off imaginary dust from his suit, “Is that I’m refusing to transport one patient to his home and refusing to let a belligerent patient leave while he is still bleeding.”

“Spin it any way you like. I’m not staying.”

“Is this about pride? Sanctity of humanity and showing a blood drinker his proper place? You know it’s stupid. May I also remind you that there are skals in the neighborhood? You might as well hand them out dinner invitations on the way home. Two meals for free!”

“Jealous you’re not invited?” spit out McCullum.

“Ah, here is the real reason,” said Reed. “Make no mistake - I could kill you now. I could have killed you back there. But you know very well that I won’t. Not as long as my will holds.”

“And how long is that?”

“Until the end of the day, the very least,” replied Reed with all seriousness. “I can stand the smell of blood that long. But I won’t need that much. Give me half an hour and you’re free to go.”

“You’re full of shit, you know that? Back then, with Jack - you looked like anything but in control of yourself.”

For a moment, the arrogance dropped from Reed’s demeanor. He looked like he usually looked - a man who’d been sad for so long, that it had become his second nature. 

“Surgeries are the hardest,” said Reed. “I don’t perform them in public anymore. But I spoke the truth.”

McCullum began to hate his change in attitude. Arrogant Reed might be asking for a fist in the face, but depressed Reed was insufferable. Hard to argue with, too. 

“I don’t trust you,” finally said McCullum.

“Most patients don’t.”

McCullum rubbed his forehead and gave up. His shoulder was hurting like hell.

“Do you have any morphine?” he asked.

“Just used the last. Sorry.”

McCullum wondered if Reed would let him take a swig of the pure alcohol and decided against asking. Well, not the first treatment without anaesthesia and probably not the last. 

“Knock yourself out,” said McCullum drily. 

Thus McCullum ended up sitting in the chair, while Reed pulled up a stool next to him. First, the leech cut away a perfectly good shirt (“I have a spare one for you, please stop with the outrage”) and then began cleaning the wound. 

It hurt like hell. McCullum did not complain, just gritted his teeth. He knew what nastiness covered skal teeth and how shallow wounds could ripe up with poison until the sickness had sunk its black tendrils deep into the body. While the alcohol burned the flesh, McCullum imagined that it hurt the sick rot even more than him.

“Done,” finally said Reed. “Now stitches. Not many - just five. Can you bear that?”

The leech had upgraded to full sentences, but his eyes were still red pin pricks in a pool of black. The teeth were sharp and feral, but just small enough to allow intelligent speech. 

“Yes,” said McCullum. He was going to hate this part.

Since Reed was stitching his neck, McCullum was spared the sight of a glistening needle going through his flesh. He hated that sight, but never could look away. Instead McCullum affixed his gaze to the damp bloated wallpaper, just past Reed’s head. McCullum wouldn’t scream, but he made small grunts that Reed could hear as easily as he could read the beat of his heart. McCullum hated that too. 

In the hot awful pain, McCullum focused on the smell that emanated from Reed’s hair. It was the smell of rich people, if you ever came close enough to take a sniff. Funny enough, while many vampires were rich, most of them did not smell like that. But Reed did.

“Done,” said Reed huskily. A final painful tug as Reed cut off the thread and set the instruments to rest. McCullum’s chest heaved, as he tried to even his breathing. Quick and unpleasant, just as Reed had promised it. Just the bandaging left to sit through.

Reed had soaked a rug in alcohol and began wiping the stitches for the final time. Then, he had halted.

McCullum had turned away his head to give Reed a better access to the wound. Turning away had made the physical closeness easier to bear, but now McCullum wished he could see Reed’s face and whether any intelligence still remained on his visage. Reed was startlingly still. His hand was still gently pressing the alcohol wipe against the stitches, but he was not moving.

In the moment that stretched far too long, McCullum felt the metal tang of fear, knowing that pulling the pistol would take him far longer than it would for Reed to bite down on the throat. But even having made that math, McCullum tightened his grip, preparing for a desperate gambit. 

Before McCullum’s body sprung into action, Reed made his own move. He leaned down and licked just below the stitches. His hair stood up on end as McCullum felt the wet cold tongue pull across his flesh.

In the next moment, Reed had stood up and turned away, intently gathering his instruments. He paid no comment on what he had just done. If the experience was not so vivid on McCullum’s mind, he’d think he had all imagined it. 

Blood, realized McCullum. Reed must have licked up a stray drop of blood. Now the leech was embarrassed as hell.

Self control, my ass. 

“Where’s the shirt?” said McCullum, rising up from the chair. His heart was still pounding, but the relief of being alive intoxicated him like good alcohol. Suddenly, what happened felt very funny, although it hardly would stay that way for long.

“In the wardrobe,” quickly answered Reed. “I’ll get it for you.”

Indeed, he did. McCullum threw the shirt over himself and began buttoning it up. The movement in his left arm hurt, but McCullum tried not to let it show. Dress up, take Jack and get out. Currently, his take on Reed fluctuated between “embarrassed doctor” and “hungry vicious leech”. Luckily, both of those gave an excuse to make a quick escape.

McCullum was about to settle on a departing repartee, but the words got stuck in his throat when he realized that Reed was about to depart together with them. His doctor’s bag all packed, coat and scarf on his shoulders, Reed leaned down to pick up Jack. Once he had risen to full height again, Reed met McCullum’s eyes.

They stood there for a few moments, McCullum’s hand firmly clasping the pistol. There was not much need for words. McCullum jerked his head towards the staircase, motioning for Reed to take the lead. McCullum followed close after. If need be, he’d manage to put a bullet in the good doctor’s head. Wouldn’t save Jack, but at least it would hurt Reed. 

On the way out, Reed did not bother with acrobatics or vampire tricks. He kicked out the door together with the boards that nailed it shut. McCullum faintly yearned to be able to do the same shit without any vampire powers. 

They walked in silence, meeting no one in these twilight hours. McCullum was glad for it, because they were a strange sight - a passed out man, wrapped in a coat and carried by a dandy. McCullum, who was wearing a white shirt and judging from the wetness around the neck, the stitches were leaking blood. Even worse, his coat was no longer hiding the sword and pistol on his hip. 

The Priwen Guard was not as reliant on secrecy as the vampires were, but they still prefered to stay clear of the general public. The bobbies didn’t like people running around with guns and swords, and it was even when you claimed that the blood on these swords was animal blood. “Pest control” had been the excuse so far. But as far as the bobbies were concerned, the Priwen were another gang - one whose hideout they had not managed to sniff out yet. 

Once the skal and vampire number had been reduced, the Priwen could return to their former secrecy. They would once more become the dagger in the dark, instead of a military force holding back the tides of evil. 

It didn’t look like that day would come very soon, though. Not with skals attacking in the middle of the day. 

At some point in the journey, McCullum realized that Reed knew perfectly well where the Priwen headquarters were located. Shouldn’t surprise him, but it did unnerve him. Well, at the very least it meant that Reed knew where to stay clear off. 

Reed carried Jack the entire way through. McCullum did not have the energy to protest or even try to attempt to take the body from him. It was true what Reed said - McCullum was not in the condition to carry anyone right now. He’d be able to make his way to the headquarters with Jack slumped across the shoulders, but he’d be dragging his feet and leaving himself open to attack. 

They halted before a small door. Reed carefully placed down Jack, helping to place a limp arm over McCullum’s shoulder so that Jack would remain upright. Then, Reed firmly knocked on the door and without further ado decided to disappear. After a few quick steps, he just dissolved into black smoke. 

McCullum stared after him for a moment, considering whether to utter a quiet “Thanks” into empty air and eventually decided against. Instead he kicked against the door a few more times for good measure and shouted “Open up, bastards! Need a hand around here”. 


	3. Chapter 3

A story with a happy ending. 

Of course, the story had to be altered for its audience. Just like Jack said, a vampire had jumped in to fight the skals, but before the leech could snack on them, McCullum had set him on fire and fled. Soon after, McCullum was desperate enough to break into a house and unlucky enough to run into the owner of the place. For some reason, the old fool ended up stitching them up and believing their lies about being robbed instead of kicking them out. 

What happened next was the usual. Another guy comes in, wants to know what the fuss is all about. You need to retell the story again. Then the guy makes a bigger fuss and offers a drink for your health. Then a few more come in, asking what the fuss is about and why everyone is drinking. Rinse repeat until you have enough alcohol to drown yourself in. 

McCullum ducked out of the celebration of his “heroic” feats. He regaled the tale in curt and basic statements and snapped when pressed for more details. People were lenient, knowing that pain made people cross. Some of the comrades that knew him best, would also know how close he’d come to failure and how much that galled him.

Therefore no one stopped him from crashing in his bed. But there was no gentle oblivion of sleep - there was just the crash. McCullum stared at the ceiling, hearing the terrible singing coming from downstairs. The shoulder ached. The first night was always the worst and McCullum had not drunk enough booze to pass out in oblivion.

He almost dozed off a few times, but something woke him each time. Either a particularly discordant note hit his ears or he moved in his sleep, pain shooting through the shoulder. At some point, McCullum grew suspicious that the stitches had fallen apart and needed to be redone. The shirt was uncomfortably wet, but when he touched it, he couldn’t tell if the stickiness was fresh or almost dried. 

It was the type of worry that gnawed at you. Eventually McCullum was forced out of his bed, lit the candle with a sigh and took a look in a cracked hand mirror. 

The wound looked ghastlier at night. The stitches were red and angry, but they were holding. There was some smudged blood around the edges. Nothing to worry about. Go to sleep, old man. 

McCullum thought about when Reed had frozen and stopped breathing. Not as if a vampire needs to breathe, they only do it to blend in. When Reed dropped that pretense, it was the same feeling as a cold gun pressing against your forehead. You couldn’t tell if it was a threat, willful intent or a bout of madness. What did it matter? It could end in splattered brains either way. 

But McCullum had walked away with brains unsplattered. It was a close call and phenomenal example why you could never trust a leech. Never make exceptions. Never trust their stories. Their hunger always overrode whatever humanity was left.

Reed was only alive because there was no inexpensive and practical method of killing him. There were extenuating factors, of course, - his part in stopping the Plague, his unexpected mercy after their duel, his work at the hospital and even his contribution to charities. But still, there was the undeniable fact, that even the best executed ambush had shit chances of actually killing Reed - and even getting Reed anywhere close to any ambush was not an easy feat either.

Nevertheless, it had been madness to stay in the same room as him. A nice chat on Christmas was not worth dying over. His help with the skals was appreciated, but McCullum wasn’t sure he liked what followed after. 

Reed was infuriating, wasn’t he? A goddamn dandy that knew what’s best for everyone around him. He’s a “doctor”, he’s allowed to make decisions for you. Even when those decisions concern his blood-sucking cursed nature.

The bastard was always hungry. Wasn’t just the regular hunger either. Reed’s eyes were crystal blue. There was none of that ugly red taint around the iris that usually gave vampires away, none of that slightly inflexible movement of the eyes. Reed hadn’t drunk blood in a long time - or drank so little that it barely registered. It both gave credit to his willpower, but it also made him infinitely more dangerous. Once he snapped, there would be a catastrophe. 

If McCullum killed Reed, it would be a mercy. No more hunger, no more sleepless nights, no more danger for anyone. But Reed would hardly appreciate it.

“What about humans?” Reed might ask. “Should I bring them relief from grief and pain, spare them the indignities of old age and sorry afflictions that come with it? No… the ultimate cure that is death is not for us to dole out.”

It was funny how well McCullum could imagine his voice. They had a mere handful of conversations together, but it was enough material for a perfect imitation.

McCullum licked a finger and rubbed at the dried blood. It came off in patches. Looking at the red, McCullum tasted it - just for the hell of it. Salty, with an iron aftertaste. Wasn’t the first time he tasted the blood and wouldn’t be the last, and he still couldn’t see for the life of him understand what drove vampires mad about this stuff.

***

Snow was falling. It was the gentlest precursor to winter, mere specks that melted upon reaching ground. Their sight made McCullum wistful as he sat in his room. It made him think of the past. 

Carl Eldritch had taken him in when it was winter. It was the loneliest time of his life. The Priwen were less numerous back then. Most of those were crusty old men and they felt like a poor replacement for the family that he had lost. McCullum had burned with righteous fury back then, trapped in a fourteen-year old’s body and finding no release for it. But Eldritch never saw his anger as impotent, his gangly limbs as weak. “None of us are physically as strong as a vampire,” said the old man, “but we manage to kill them all the same. But the holy flame, the holy symbol and silver bullet need to be guided by an experienced hand. Learn, Geoffrey. Watch and learn.”

Thus McCullum watched and learned. He drank whiskey by the fire, the older men laughing at the faces he made. He became a halfway decent shot, even though the cold made him lose the feeling in his fingers during every training session. He studied the Bible, like he had never studied it before, the hidden history of the world uncovered by Carl Eldritch’s steady voice. 

It was the loneliest winter, but their camaraderie of the Guard warmed him all the same. When spring came, McCullum realized that the cold had fled from his heart. He saw a future for himself among these people. He saw something more than darkness and blood, the quiet whimper of his mother and the red glow of his father’s eyes. McCullum was certain that he would manage to kill his brother, just as Eldritch had killed his father. The vampire curse would spread no more. There would be an end to the suffering. McCullum had worked towards that end ever since. 

It was boring to be stuck at headquarters. McCullum wasn’t allowed out for patrol anymore. Not as if there was anyone actually capable of forbidding it to him - but it was a sensible decision and everyone looked at him like he was stupid for considering anything else. McCullum let out the frustration on recruits and took the time to sort out the paperwork that had piled up. Requisitions, supplies, reports… Priwen tried to keep the records minimal, but once the organization had grown it was inevitable that the paper creep would follow. 

It wasn’t his intention to fall asleep at the desk. None of the shit he was doing was urgent, but he drank some tea, shuffled some papers and read the reports. Then, he got distracted by the snow outside… and then eventually he fell asleep. 

Sleeping at the desk was not conducive to recuperating rest, but turns out, there was no danger of that. He did not wake up with an aching neck and shoulder, as one ought to expect. Instead he woke up with a start and pistol in hand, firing at the window.

It was cold in the room. The jagged pieces of broken glass hung from the window like teeth. The shot still rang in McCullum’s ears, as he swore and reloaded the pistol.

McCullum had to give it to his men - Tom arrived about twenty seconds later without knocking, shotgun in hand and expression of alertness on his face. 

“It’s alright,” said McCullum. “Had a bad dream, woke up with a start. Shame about the window.”

“Ah, got it,” said Tom, relaxing. There were voices coming from below. “Yeah, shame about the window.”

The wind was whistling through the jagged glass. 

“Should I set up something for you downstairs?” suggested Tom. “Might be cold here to sleep.”

McCullum looked over the hole and sighed.

“Bring up a board or something… actually, bring one of the paintings. I’ll set it over the window. It’ll block out the wind and I’ll think of something else in the morning.”

“Sure, boss.” 

Tom was a bright boy that made no more comments than necessary, immediately heading downstairs. Meanwhile, McCullum walked over to the window and looked out. 

Reed was outside, holding himself up with his fingers by the edge of the brickwork. McCullum mouthed “motherfucker” at him to which Reed mustered something like an apologetic smile.

McCullum returned to the doorstep of his room. Tom arrived with a huge thing in his hands, struggling in the narrow landing. McCullum helped him out.

“What the hell is this thing?” asked McCullum. A grim looking dark-haired man stared at him from the almost two meter high portrait. 

“One of the founding fathers of the Guard, I guess.”

Frederick Mountbatten, read McCullum from the name plate below. 

“Well, we sure were loaded back then in the old days if we had money to spend on shit like this,” said McCullum drily. 

Tom grinned at him. 

“I’m sure me and the boys can chime in to draw a picture of you. We’ll set it above the fireplace…”

“We don’t have a fireplace.”

“Boss, you’re crushing my dreams.”

“Get out.”

With laughter, Tom left. Closing the door behind him, McCullum put the painting against the wall and strode over to the window. Reed was in the process of climbing inside, but halfway through he was met with a pistol pressed to his forehead.

“What the hell were you thinking?” hissed McCullum. 

“That you were less of a light sleeper,” said Reed. His eyes were piercing blue. “I apologize for… well, everything that just happened. Let me drop off something and I’ll be gone.”

“Drop off what?” asked McCullum. 

“Nothing exciting,” said Reed. “Antibiotics.”

“Antibiotics?” McCullum felt like cursing loudly, but kept his voice low. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” 

Reed said nothing, just sighed quietly.

“I can buy antibiotics in any goddamn apothecary, so why would I appreciate a nighttime call by the local friendly leech?” pressed McCullum, still not wrapping his head around it.

“Yes, you can buy them,” said Reed in the tone of a man that knew that his next words will not be appreciated, “but antibiotics are best prescribed knowing the condition and it needs to be a full course to avoid the infection coming back.”

McCullum had not raised the pistol from Reed’s forehead just yet, and at the moment felt the strong temptation to squeeze the trigger. 

“I once again apologize,” said Reed, “but I need to get in or get out. Anyone can see me from the street at the moment.”

With a growl, McCullum lowered the gun and let Reed inside. As he was doing it, a quiet voice inside him was saying “What the hell are you doing? This is exactly the opposite of what you intended to do.”

Yeah, McCullum couldn’t argue with that. It just felt like one thing led to another and then the decision was made for him. Not as if he didn’t have choice, but all arguments against letting Reed in - prick, annoying, fucking leech in the headquarters of Priwen?! - seemed so distant and arguments for - impolite, might as well let him in - seemed suddenly to hold weight. 

If McCullum didn’t know exactly what it felt like, he’d think that Reed had used his leech powers on him. But no, it was his own stupid self that had allowed Reed to enter. 

As promised, Reed took out the package and set it on the desk. McCullum made no motions to take. There was an uneasy air between them, as neither knew an appropriate response to each other’s presence. 

“Since you are awake,” said Reed, breaking the silence, “may I be allowed to examine your wound?”

“It’s healing fine.”

“I would be most comfortable taking a look myself. Won’t take long. Just to check for infection.”

“It’s freezing here, so no, I’m not undressing for you.”

“Ah,” said Reed and moved. In the span of a few seconds, he picked up the portrait and set it against the window.

“Other side,” said McCullum.

“Excuse me?”

“Turn it around. I’d rather esteemed Sir Mountbatten not stare at me while I’m having a fucking vampire visitor in my room.”

“Understandable.”

Reed turned the portrait around. 

“I’m still not stripping down.”

It was another protest that Reed had chosen to ignore. He stepped closer and flicked his wrist, as if shaking off water. Blood drops coagulated, hanging in the air. It took effort not to flinch away, as a red web formed around them. Like a half-dome, it covered them both.

“It’ll warm up quickly,” said Reed. “You don’t have to take off the shirt, just unbutton the highest ones.”

“You’re using fucking blood magic around me?”

“My magic is just as unholy as my existence - my breathing is fuelled by the same source as this.” Reed motioned towards the pulsing web. “There is no difference.”

“I agree that you breathing is sacrilege in itself - doesn’t mean I want to witness your shitty magic tricks.”

“It’s just to warm up,” repeated Reed. “I can drop it, if you like but it’s harmless.”

McCullum just glared.

“Let me examine the injury and I’ll be gone. May I?” 

Maybe it was the polite “May I?” that did it. The blood magic still gave McCullum the creeps, but it was the same thing that had saved his life in the back alley - and yes, it was warming up the small space he was in, therefore McCullum could swallow the outrage for a minute or two. 

Still, McCullum made no motions of obeying. He just looked to the side, as if saying “Do what you will, but I’m not moving.”

Eventually interpreting the silence as stubborn consent, Reed was forced to unbutton the shirt himself. His touch was light as a feather, he deftly undid the buttons and then exposed the injury. 

The bruises were beginning to fade, currently showing a mixture of green and yellow. McCullum knew it, because he looked at it every morning. The edges of the wound were puffed and red, held together by the black thread. 

Throwing a glance at Reed, McCullum tried to gauge what the doctor discerned from this sight - was it good or bad? Reed looked thoughtful, but not worried. Then, McCullum noticed this his nostrils flared - Reed was _ smelling _ the wound. 

“Seems to be coming along fine,” concluded Reed. “A little infected, but that is to be expected. The stitches need to come out in two days.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Thank you for the cooperation.” The blood dome dissolved, leaving tendrils of thin black smoke that disappeared in the next moment. Reed took a tactful step to the side and continued: “Two weeks of antibiotics should be an adequate prevention for exacerbation of the injury. The note regarding the dosage is next to the bottle.” 

McCullum said nothing, buttoning up the shirt. 

“I’ve taken enough of your time,” said Reed, giving a half-bow. “I’ll take me leave.”

“Don’t let the door hit you.” 

Reed set aside the portrait and set a foot on the windowsill, preparing to jump. 

“Reed,” said McCullum.

“Yes?” 

“Coming in two days for the stitches?” 

After a moment’s pause, Reed replied:

“I will.”

In the next moment, he was gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

Whatever Frederic Mountbatten had overheard that evening he had kept it to himself. The portrait was transported downstairs where he once again upheld his quiet requiem.

Replacing the glass seemed like a lot of unnecessary work for a temporary hideout. McCullum had nailed a tarp to the wood frame, hoping it would help in keeping the wind out. In addition, the boys procured a lamp and a gas heater for him to counteract the darkness and cold of the room, achieving the same comfort as before with significantly more trouble. 

Moving to another room was not an option. This place had been a warehouse once, with the large open space on the ground floor and the supervisor office on the second floor. The boys had hammered together something like barracks, training grounds and a storage closet in the main area. But the only truly private space was McCullum’s, the deluxe hotel room upstairs.

Reed knocked the next time he came by. The cold entered together with Reed. He took off his coat and placed his instruments on the desk, greeting McCullum, with a respectful nod. 

They didn’t really speak. It was late evening, but since the Priwen Guard patrolled predominantly at night, there were plenty of lurkers downstairs. It was easier to stay silent than control volume. 

Or maybe they just weren’t sure whether conversation was a good idea.

While Reid was snipping at the stitches, McCullum had affixed his stare on the hanging coat of his guest. At some point, McCullum noticed that there were fine stitches in the coat, a fix for a nasty gash. Unless Reid had started fence hopping, it was likely caused by someone with ill intent.

If you discard midnight robbers who are woefully under equipped to deal with a vampire, there were three types of enemies left as possible perpetrators: Priwen, other vampires and skals. The first could be dismissed - the Priwen hadn’t fought a full-fledged vampire in at least two months. That left vampires or skals. 

Speaking of the last, their population had once again plummeted in the last weeks. 

The black threads that Reed had pulled from McCullum’s flesh now lay on the desk like dead worms. The penetrant smell of alcohol hung in the air as Reed soaked a rug with disinfectant. 

McCullum was reminded of what happened last time. His pistol was inside the desk and his throat was laid bare. But McCullum did not move, nor feel any regret towards the decision he was making. 

Reed wouldn’t bite him. It wouldn’t be cultured. It would conflict with his world view of himself. Quite likely, the good doctor considered the Priwen to be rabid dogs, but useful dogs. Therefore, unless Reed was seriously tempted and his sanity in frays, he wouldn’t do anything out of bounds.

Shivers ran down McCullum’s spine as the damp cloth brushed against the sensitive flesh of his healing wound. In a few moments, Reed was done. He disposed of the trash in a small brown bag and packed his instruments.

McCullum just sat there, looking at the doctor pack.

“Stay for a game of cards?” he said at last.

“Sure,” said Reed as if it was the most natural question.

They played for an hour or two. Conversation, that had been so sparse in the beginning, began flowing. They talked about politics and London, the new trading hall opening up and the tosser leading the opening ceremony. Sir Baddeley had earned Reed’s ire for cutting the hospital funding, while McCullum considered the handling of the sewer system a disgrace.

Overall, an air of companionship had replaced the chill from before. Reed appeared to be in a good mood, despite the streak of losses he was suffering.

“Where’s the famed vampire luck?” drawled McCullum. He spread the cards in front of him. “Remind me again - is this the third or the fourth game you lost?”

Reed glanced at the cards and folded without visible disappointment. 

“I guess I am saving my luck for the important stuff. Wouldn’t want to shoot with cannons at sparrows.”

“All I hear are excuses, excuses.”

“I retract my statement. You are probably just cheating and taking advantage of my naive nature.“

“Shouldn’t have come into the rough part of town, then, dear doctor. All sorts of bad people around here.”

Reed laughed at that. 

Somehow, the two of them always came back to the vampire jokes. Look, isn’t that funny? A vampire and a vampire hunter playing cards. We’ll pretend I’m the bad guy and you’re the helpless dandy and then switch roles once again. Isn’t that just hilarious how neither of us is killing each other right now?

It was hilarious. It really was. 

They put away the cards, deciding in unison and in silence that it was enough for one night. Both of them leaned towards a nocturnal lifestyle, but it was late and tribute to sleep should be at least attempted. 

They sat in the low light of a small lamp. It was throwing stark shadows against the wall, perfectly capturing Reed’s profile - his straight nose, the high forehead and the beard. It was the type of shadow that ought to be put inside a window frame and sent to a museum. Refined, but somehow haunting.

“I should be going,” said Reed.

“Yes.”

Moving without hurry, Reed put on the coat, took his instruments bag and scanned the room for anything left behind. 

“Don’t let the door hit you,” said McCullum, as Reed climbed the window sill. 

A small chuckle and Reed was gone. 

McCullum did not say “Until next time”, but Reed came back anyway. He’d been in the process of clearing out the drawers when McCullum heard the windows opening. 

Next, a hiss and a thud against the wall. McCullum turned to see Reed shielding his face, as faced with great heat. After a look-around, McCullum noticed the cross lying on the desk and shoved it inside the drawer.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Reed, a little rattled. He rubbed his face and blinked. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said McCullum, turning his back on him and dumping the piles of paper back in the drawers. 

That was interesting, thought McCullum. They did know from previous experience that it was the visual component that burned vampires when faced with a cross. It was a constant discussion though whether vampires can sense crosses as vague discomfort before they see them, which was a major argument against using them in ambushes. 

Even if Reed had felt the cross before entering, he might have been distracted and ignored the sense of foreboding. Still, it was something to keep in mind. Reed wasn’t very careful… and it could be exploited.

Having cleared out most of his desk, McCullum turned to face Reed. The man did his best to clear his features to a pleasant expression, as if nothing had happened. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nothing in particular. Do you play chess?”

McCullum glanced at the board under Reed’s arm.

“Sure.”

Reed played as black, McCullum as white. Neither of them commented on it, although both had noted the meaning of that choice.

In his youth, McCullum had faced many battles over a dinner table. The old Guard of Priwen loved chess and thought it fostered strategic thinking. McCullum disagreed with that, but it was a better pastime for his younger selves than any of the alternatives.

There were three types of chess players: poker-faced veterans that gave you nothing, try-hard men that tried goading you into making a rushed move and the thoughtful ones that couldn’t keep it to themselves. Reed was the last type. He had a very expressive face and uttered “Hmm” or “I wonder...” from time to time, before picking up a chess piece and delicately placing it somewhere. 

Reed had long fingers fit for a surgeon. McCullum wondered if the rich folks bred for this trait just like the working people bred for sturdy bones.

There was no awkwardness this time, but not much chit chat either. They focussed on the game. It was a bloodbath for both sides, leaving a total of ten figures standing. 

The dearth of figures meant that the game got narrower. You tried to look deeper into the future, predicting as many steps ahead as you could, as your options dwindled. You could see the end coming. The question was whose end it would be. 

When Reed tapped against the table, McCullum’s gaze was drawn to his hands. These were a surgeon’s hands, not a butcher’s. Reed killed, but with precision. 

McCullum remembered their duel underneath Pembroke hospital. Reed’s skin had smoked under the bite of the sun lamps, his fingernails blackened and splintered. But it didn’t kill him and the darkness licked his wounds as the equipment failed.

Fighting a vampire alone was something McCullum had expressively forbidden to the Priwen - but in some cases, he found it necessary to hunt alone. If his compatriots were slow, they would just be picked off and their blood would only serve the vampire’s cause. Besides, McCullum was certain of his abilities. It wasn’t the first vampire duel he had walked out alive from.

Rook, C6. Reed had invaded his space, close to the tower and king. But not enough to box him in.

Maybe McCullum had underestimated Reed simply due to his age. A vampire, less than two weeks old, was usually not much of a challenge. But the plague and infighting on the streets had forced Reed to become resourceful. It had made him into a weapon. 

Tower to A6, and Reed’s rook was spooked to flee. In the next round, McCullum closed in on Reed’s queen. Not yet dead, but it was looking grim. 

If McCullum set an ambush in his room, letting a steel board with an engraved cross fall behind Reed just as he entered through the window… he could herd Reed into the main room, right into the crossfire, where a dozen men with guns could lie in wait. It could be a solution to a longstanding problem.

Reed’s queen was gone, taken by a rook. The pauses between turns grew shorter, as both players were acting out their vision of the future. 

It could work. Or it could lead to disaster. Would McCullum do it?

The tower faced the McCullum’s king. When the king tried to escape, the rook cut him off. Checkmate. 

“Well played,” said McCullum. 

“It was a good game,” said Reed. There was a faint satisfied smile and wrinkles around his eyes, his tone respectfully staying just inches away from appearing smug.

If I failed to kill you a second time, thought McCullum, what would you do? Let me go once more? Or instead finish the job? 

Or could you do something worse?

“We should repeat this another time,” said Reed. 

“Agreed.”

“Do you mind if I leave the chess board here? It’s a long walk back to Pembroke.”

“Sure. I’ve got space for it.”

“Great.”

Their farewells were as always quite short. Reed raised his hat in salute and disappeared into the night. McCullum closed the windows after him and looked at the empty room.

If I killed you, Reed, what would I do afterwards? You’re not that special and I like you less than you think. But you have nowhere else to be and I have nothing else to do. We’re creatures of the night, we both have holes inside of us and we are equals. It’s rare to have equals.

If I killed you, I’d have to visit your grave. Maybe I’ll spare myself the trip and wait for you to come around next week 


	5. Chapter 5

The rain beat against the tarp of the window. McCullum was wiping his crossbow with a soft rag, cleaning from mud and blood. It was undamaged, thank God. Silver bullets weren’t bad, but there was something nice and old fashioned about sending a silver arrow through someone’s heart. Besides, it hurt them like hell. 

Most of McCullum’s belongings were dumped in the corner, They were going to move the headquarters soon. There were some folks checking out the place earlier and it seemed like the legal owner (or illegal one) of this warehouse was bound to show up. A territory dispute was not in their interest. Therefore the Priwen Guard decided to move out.

Some of the newer recruits grumbled about it. They’d learn, though, to switch gears from one moment to another. They’ll go through headquarters after another. Maybe they’ll find a place to last them a decade or maybe their stay will be mere months. 

The Priwen Guard were vampire hunters. But all hunters should know how easily they can become the hunted. Being flexible was the best way of staying one step ahead. 

Anyway, the place they found was decent. A run-down building, but with proper rooms and thick stone walls. Plague had killed the tenants, as well as the owner. It was selling for cheap - at least for London standards - and the Priwen could afford the investment. 

“Gonna miss the place, boss?”

“Not really,” had answered McCullum back then. “Not even the deluxe suite upstairs is worth staying for.”

Martin had just laughed at that. 

It was true. McCullum wouldn’t miss the place. It wasn’t home, since home only existed in his distant memories. This place was just four walls and a bed. Enough to be grateful for, but far too little to care for it. 

They were almost wrapped up and McCullum knew that they could leave at any moment need be. But he did not make the command to leave. There was a loose end waiting to be taken care of.

The rain had masked the noise of the opening window. It was the gust of wind and the smell of rain that made McCullum turn towards the guest.

Reed looked damp and glad to be inside. He leaned the umbrella against the wall and began taking off the coat, noticing midway that McCullum was holding a crossbow in his hands. 

“Preparing for the hunt?” asked Reed.

“Just weapon maintenance,” said McCullum. He checked the tension of the string, was satisfied by what he saw, and walked over to the desk to put it down. 

By now Reed had taken off the coat and left a trail of dripping water behind him. McCullum met his eyes.

“We’re moving out,” said McCullum. “You won’t find us here next week.”

“I see,” said Reed. “A precaution… against whom exactly?”

“Against being tried as squatters. The owner has reappeared after the long silence.”

“I see,” repeated Reed. He looked caught off guard. A few moments later, he noticed he was still holding the hat in his hands and decided to hang it next to the coat. 

“I suppose I will not be invited to the housewarming party?” said Reed.

“Not unless you bring the timber for your bonfire.”

“Your hospitality is above all expectations.”

There was a loud curse and the sound of a crash from below. They both halted, listening in. Didn’t sound like someone needed immediate help.

The conversation halted and it wouldn’t start again. The two of them sat there, acutely aware that they were bound for different destinations. There were farewells hanging in the air, stifling their tongues. 

McCullum watched Reed, who watched his own hands. Then he said:

“By the way… mind doing a last check-up?”

“Sure,” said Reed. “I’ll take a look.”

It was not necessary to do so, but McCullum stood up and took off his shirt. Frankly, the examination itself was unnecessary as well. The wound had healed. A pink scar had welled up on his collarbone that would fade in time.

Reed stood up as well and stepped closer to examine that scar. McCullum watched him from the corner of the eye. Vampires can’t read thoughts, but they can read heartbeats. Do you listen, Reed? Can you hear what I’m saying?

They were standing close to each other. Reed lifted his arm and placed his fingers on the scar, gently touching it. A chill went through McCullum’s body.

When Reed looked up from the scar, McCullum met his gaze. There was flash understanding, like they were meeting each other for a second time and finding out each other’s true names. It was a naked, exhilarating feeling. 

Reed leaned down and licked down the scar. It was a long and slow motion. McCullum silently inhaled when the tongue touched his skin. He felt Reed’s beard, as the vampire nuzzled closer. Kissing and licking, Reed only stopped to deeply inhale McCullum’s smell in the nook of his neck. 

“Stop with the neck obsession,” said McCullum, grabbing Reed by the hair. He pulled him in close for a kiss.

The fangs were a novelty, as was the stubble. But with the heat building up in McCullum, it didn’t bother him. It was a reminder that this was Reed. There was no other man he’d let come close. 

Their kisses were deep and all-consuming. McCullum felt Reed’s hands wander down his back, not warm but not cold either. Feeling how hungrily Reed kissed him and pressed himself against him, McCullum was grimly delighted by his desire. It made him feel like he held power over Reed... although the exact opposite was probably true. 

“Take off your clothes,” said McCullum between kisses, “or are gonna fuck dressed?”

Reed obliged, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. McCullum took the opportunity to grab him by the waist and pull him closer, rubbing his crotch against him. Reed exhaled and suddenly McCullum was aware that his eyes were drowning in black.

“Are you fine?” asked McCullum, sobering up. What he wanted to say was “Are you in control?” but it came out differently. 

“Yes,” said Reed quietly and pulled a little closer. “But if you don’t feel…”

“Fuck that,” said McCullum and kissed him again. He knew he was playing with fire. He should be putting a stake inside Reed right now. Instead, he was going to put something else inside him tonight, hah…

Reed fumbled for so long with the buttons, that McCullum just tugged it off him. Buttons chinked as they fell to the ground and Reed hissed like an animal at him, but McCullum just grinned and pulled the shirt off him. 

As retaliation, Reed pushed McCullum over the bed. They were taking off the pants between kisses and with some half assed acrobatics. McCullum got a good handful of Reed’s hard cock, which made Reed hiss once and bury his head against McCullum’s shoulder. No matter how many times McCullum tugged the vampire by his hair, he still kept coming to the neck, nuzzling and kissing. 

They were quiet, as far as that was possible. The bed creaked and their breathing was heavy, but they didn’t moan or talk. Reed let McCullum take the lead. McCullum thrusted inside him, while Reed silently bared his fangs and gripped the bed frame until his knuckles were white. 

Occasionally McCullum kissed him. He was aware of the sharp fangs and the damage they could do, and it thrilled him how meekly Reed submitted to his tongue. McCullum knew it was all play pretend, this game of submission and dominance. But it thrilled him still. It made thrust harder and faster and watched how Reed threw back his head. This pace was hurting Reed, but this was part of the pleasure - seeing what Reed would take just to stay in McCullum’s bed. 

McCullum came with a gasp, spilling his seed inside Reed. Reed twitched, his black eyes fixed on the ceiling. His cock was rock hard. 

Riding out the orgasm, McCullum slowly pulled out and draped himself over Reed. Deep satisfaction was beginning to settle in his bones. He caressed Reed’s cheek and kissed him lazily, then dropped the hand to embrace Reed’s cock. Reed moaned quietly, burying his head once more into McCullum’s neck. 

There was too little energy left in McCullum to go for a quick pace, therefore he slowly stroked Reed’s cock and watched his face. The vampire barely moved, digging his hands into the sheets and staring into distance. He responded to kisses, but it looked like Reed was completely out of it - unless you ignore the way his breathing halted when McCullum tightened the grip or quickened the pace. 

“Still with me?” asked McCullum.

“Yes,” said Reed hoarsely. He focussed his on McCullum, although with visible difficulty. “This is… novel.”

“What? Never had a jerk-off before?” teased McCullum.

Reed said nothing, just gulped. He was salivating and had to swallow frequently. McCullum was not insane enough to shove his dick into a vampire’s mouth, but the way Reed swallowed certainly gave him ideas.

“Not sure if I can come,” said Reed. “It’s… maybe not in this state…”

“What you never..?”

“Not since becoming a vampire, no.”

“Well, the legends about horny vampires can’t have been all fiction. They must have had some hope for a payoff before jumping into bed.”

“Maybe,” said Reed with a twitch of a smile. Once more, he leaned to kiss McCullum’s shoulder and brushed his nose against the collarbone. There was the hunger for warmth written all over his features, in each of his controlled movements and gentle touches. When was the last time he had embraced another person? Was it months… or years by now?

There was the primal hunger for blood fighting the - no less primal - but so much more human urge for warmth. Neither of the desires could be truly fulfilled. The hunger would never pass. The warmth would never settle. But like a beggar, Reed would always beg for a taste, always try and always fail to find contentment.

It was a miserable life. McCullum never felt bad for killing vampires. It was a service done to help both sides, even if they didn’t see it. 

Reed opened his eyes and looked half-puzzled, half-alarmed since McCullum had let go off his cock and shifted from his position. Realization began dawning in his eyes, once McCullum had settled between the legs and lowered his head. 

“I’m not…” stammered Reed and trailed off. He had half sat up and tried instinctively to close legs. McCullum wouldn’t let him, of course. 

“What is it?” asked McCullum, and had then a vague supposition what the doctor could be bothered be. “Look, I don’t expect you to to smell like roses particularly since you came in without the expectation that dick sucking would be involved.”

Reed looked chagrined, but didn’t protest.

“I already you fucked up the ass, so let’s not be squeamish.” 

With that McCullum took him in the mouth. This was his first time doing it, having only been on the receiving end before. But it can’t be that hard to do, decided McCullum, particularly since Reed was making such wonderful noises. Reed was trying to keep it down, but the pitch of his panting had changed. 

McCullum took a short break to lick at the underside of the cock, playing with the balls and slightly tugging at them. Wouldn’t want to let Reed forget that he was in control. Then McCullum took him again, assisting with the hand at the base of the cock. 

In the beginning, it had felt a little strange, particularly since Reed’s package was cool to the touch. But the more McCullum worked with it, the less it seemed to matter. Whenever McCullum glanced up, he saw how worked up Reed had gotten. His mouth was gaping and the long fangs glistening, fingers wrapped around the bed frame. Whether he could or could not come seemed no longer to be on Reed’s mind. 

About ten minutes into the spiel, McCullum began to realize that he should have appreciated the blowjobs he got more than he did. This was hard work that did a number on your jaw. Still, McCullum kept up with it, although at a slower and more moderate pace than in the beginning. Reed made such enticing noises that made it hard to stop - and McCullum wanted to make the first night as memorable as possible. 

It was the quiet growl that gave away Reed. McCullum kept working with the hand, but pulled away his mouth just in time. Reed’s body arched, as semen spilled from his cock. He shuddered, then collapsed. Breathing heavily, his gaze remained unfocused as McCullum climbed on top of him once more.

What happened next, was very quick. Reed turned and wrapped his arms around McCullum, entangling with him as closely as he could. His breath was heavy and tickled the base of McCullum’s hair. When McCullum shifted, he felt that Reed’s grip was iron and there was no way he was getting out of it. 

But McCullum did not protest or struggle. The embrace didn’t feel threatening. It felt like a comfort. 

They didn’t really talk that night. Just lay there until McCullum fell asleep.

He was startled a few hours later. Reed had somehow slipped out of the bed without him noticing and began dressing up. Sleepily, McCullum watched the figure move around the room in the dark. 

“Won’t be here next time,” said McCullum.

“I know,” said Reed. He leaned down and kissed him on the temple. “My address is Carlisle Street 27.”

“Wonder what I’ll do with that information…”

“Don’t let them set the house on fire. My mother still lives there.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

Reed left after pressing a last kiss on McCullum’s hair. He disappeared into the night, evading the impending dawn and the righteous sun.

After all... some things should be left alone in the dark.


End file.
